The Silver Rose (25 page)

T
HE CANDLE BURNED LOW
in the sconce, casting a feeble glow over the rough stone walls of the gatehouse where Carole was interred, awaiting her audience with the Silver Rose. The prospective meeting filled her with both hope and dread, but no matter what was about to happen to her, she longed to have it over.

She slumped down on a stool, anxiously watching the candle, knowing that when it guttered out, she was going to be left in darkness. The only windows in the gatehouse were high apertures, too narrow to let in more than the merest sliver of moonlight. The lack of ventilation rendered the chamber hot and airless and Carole felt sweat trickle down her spine.

Despite the closeness of the room and her mounting anxiety, many of Carole’s other discomforts had been relieved. After they had been admitted to the grounds of the manor house, Ursula and Odile had disappeared in the direction of the house. Carole had been consigned to the care of a girl named Yolette, who had guided her toward the gatehouse.

Carole had been given food, wine, and water to bathe and refresh herself. Although Yolette had been reserved and silent, refusing to answer any of Carole’s anxious questions about the Silver Rose, she had at least treated Carole with far more consideration than her traveling companions ever had. She had applied a poultice to Carole’s sore foot, and furnished her with a frock to wear, the garment a little coarse, but clean.

Carole had been somewhat heartened by this. If she was being treated this kindly, that must be a good sign. Unless she was merely being prepared for some sort of hellish sacrifice. A terrifying notion and Carole sought to repress it. As dour as the girl was, Carole had wanted to beg Yolette to remain and bear her company until she was summoned. But before Carole could swallow her pride to do so, the girl had gathered up Carole’s filthy clothes. Carole would be fetched soon, Yolette said.

It was the longest sentence the girl had spoken and she did so as she exited the gatehouse, locking Carole in. How long ago that had been, Carole had no idea. She had nothing to do to pass the time except worry and fret and watch the candle burn lower and lower.

Her nerves were strained to the snapping point when she finally heard the chink of the key in the lock. The door creaked open and this time it was Odile who entered, carrying a lantern. There was no sign of Ursula, much to Carole’s relief.

Odile was likewise scrubbed and wearing fresh garb. As Carole struggled to her feet, Odile rustled closer.

“Come, my dear. It is time.” She beamed, taking Carole by the hand. But as she felt the tremor in Carole’s fingers, her smile dimmed.

“Oh, child, you really are going to have to gain more command of yourself than you have shown thus far. Then everything will be all right, I promise you.” Odile leaned closer, saying in a conspiratorial voice. “Ursula is in a great deal of trouble. The Lady is not at all pleased with her.

“When we came to Faire Isle, we were only sent there to uncover the truth of all these rumors our Lady had heard about one of the Cheney women returning to Faire Isle. To see who the witch was, assess her powers, and then report back. Ursula completely exceeded her authority when she left that rose to kill the Lady of the Wood.”

Odile’s cheeks puffed as she blew out her breath in a gusty sigh. “But I know Ursula Gruen too well. She will try to deflect the Lady’s anger by turning it on me. She is already back there in the hall complaining that I have jeopardized the safety of the Silver Rose by recruiting someone who is unworthy.

“That is why you have got to pluck up, my dear.” Odile gave Carole’s fingers a tight squeeze. “If you make your curtsy to the Lady all weak and weepy, you are going to make me look very bad.”

Carole tugged her hand free, saying resentfully. “I have been given plenty of cause to weep, so what exactly would you have me do, Odile?”

“Why, behave more like the tough little thing you were when I first met you. Cursing your lover, your family, and all those stupid prim island women. Whatever happened to that spirited girl?”

She died when she was forced to abandon her babe,
Carole wanted to retort, but she knew it would be useless. Odile might be a great deal kinder, but she was no better able to comprehend Carole’s feelings than the brutish Ursula.

“Oh, Carole.” Odile ruefully shook her head. “I realize you have been obliged to do things that must have seemed harsh to you. That is because as yet you do not fully understand the Silver Rose and her purposes. Everything will be so much clearer to you when you are admitted into the inner circle.

“But first you must survive your audience with the Lady. I don’t want to frighten you, but Ursula is insisting you are too weak to be admitted to our court, that you ought to be sewn up in a sack and cast into the Seine like a useless kitten. It’s up to you to prove her wrong.

“Our Lady admires women who are tough and strong.” Odile gave her a coaxing smile. “You just hold your head high, behave like the warrior maiden I saw on Faire Isle, and the Lady will take no heed of Ursula. All right?”

Carole nodded uneasily. “I’ll try.”

“Good girl.” Odile patted her cheek. “Come along then. It is never wise to keep the Lady waiting.”

Holding the lantern aloft, Odile led the way out of the gatehouse. Carole squared her shoulders and followed Odile across the darkened courtyard, trying to screw her features into a fierce expression.

But her courage flagged as they entered the house, her heart thudding uncontrollably at the thought that within moments, she would at last find herself in the presence of the formidable Silver Rose.

She trailed Odile into a great hall that was lit by an iron candelabrum suspended by an iron chain from one of the rafters. The light from the candles played over a sea of faces, all of them women. A dozen or more by Carole’s dazed reckoning, some appearing not much older than herself, others more in their middling years like Odile. Plump, thin, dark, fair, the women were all alike in one thing, their rapt expressions, their air of suppressed excitement, as though waiting for something important to happen.

The hall was silent except for the rasp of one voice emanating from the front of the room. Craning her neck, Carole saw a throne-like chair mounted beneath a silken canopy, but it was empty. Two figures occupied the dais near the chair. One was Ursula, the huge woman on her knees, cowering before a tall thin female garbed in a gown of unrelenting black, the skirts stiffened by a farthingale.

“The Lady,” Odile whispered in Carole’s ear, but Odile had no need to tell her that. From her first sight of the woman, Carole had little doubt that she was at last in the presence of the Silver Rose.

Never had Carole ever seen anyone who so much fit her notion of a sorceress. A mass of silver-streaked black hair flowed back in a widow’s peak from an exotic face with high slanting cheekbones and a slim straight nose. The lady’s complexion was so ice-white as to appear completely bloodless, her dark eyes cold, her mouth a cruel red slash. One thin hand curled like a talon around a long wooden staff she carried, the other toying with a strange five-sided medallion she wore suspended about her slender neck.

As Carole took in these details, her heart plummeted, any hope that she might find compassion from the Silver Rose completely dashed.

Her head bowed, Ursula Gruen groveled before the sorceress. “Milady, I—I know you regard the Cheney women as enemies, that they have done you grave injury. It was hard to glean information about the Lady of the Wood. She—she is so reclusive, but I was sure you would want her destroyed. To—to have your revenge, I thought—”

“You
thought
?” the sorceress interrupted scornfully. “The Silver Rose does not require any of her followers to think, only obey. My vengeance is none of your concern, Ursula Gruen. I will deal with the Cheneys in my own way and in my own time. All that is expected of you is that you will do as you are told. Is that too much to ask?”

“N-no, milady. But I was not the only one who disobeyed,” Ursula whined. “Odile was no better.”

Carole heard Odile suck in her breath at the mention of her name.

“Instead of carrying out our mission, she was more concerned about recruiting some puling girl. Revealing the existence of our coven to someone completely not to be trusted—”

“Damn her!” Odile muttered. “I knew she’d try to turn me into the scapegoat.” She surged forward, pushing her way past the other women. Scrambling up onto the dais, she prostrated herself beside Ursula, kneeling before the sorceress.

“Your pardon, milady. But what Ursula is saying is simply not true. I have achieved high enough rank in our order. I have the right to initiate new members if I find any that I feel might prove worthy—”

“Which this miserable little wretch is not.” Ursula glowered at Odile. “Any fool could tell that.”

“But she did what was required of her,” Odile argued. “She sacrificed the male infant she bore.”

“Not willingly,” Ursula shot back. “If that treacherous little bitch had had her way—”

“Silence. Both of you!” the sorceress commanded icily, striking her staff against the wooden floor. Ursula and Odile subsided immediately, cringing back.

“I will judge the girl for myself,” the sorceress said. “Where is she?”

“Over there,” someone called out, pointing to where Carole cowered at the back of the room.

Carole shrank down even farther as all heads turned toward her, a myriad of eyes trained upon her, curious, critical, assessing.

“Come forward and present yourself, girl,” the sorceress commanded.

Carole seemed to have frozen, unable to move of her own volition. Someone gave her a shove and she staggered forward, the crowd of women falling back to make way for her. Carole felt her cheeks burn under the weight of all those staring eyes. As she approached the dais, she tried to remember all that Odile had told her. Head high, chin up. Be brave, tough, fierce.

But her mind had gone numb with fear, her heart thudding in her chest. Her legs trembled so badly they threatened to give way beneath her as she mounted the dais. Ursula and Odile had risen, drawing back out of the way. Ursula’s mouth curled in an ugly sneer, Odile offering Carole a look that was part encouragement, part plea.

“The wretch is here, milady,” Ursula announced as though the Silver Rose could not see that for herself.

The sorceress held out one dead-white hand. “Come closer, child.”

When Carole hesitated, Ursula was only too pleased to give her a push until she stood quivering, only a foot away from that cold countenance. She bit down on her lip, uncertain what she should do. Curtsy? Kneel as Ursula and Odile had done?

“What is your name, girl?” the sorceress demanded.

“C-carole Moreau.” Her voice came out in a frightened squeak.

“Say
milady,
” Odile instructed her in a loud whisper.

“M-milady.”

The sorceress crooked both hands about her staff. “And so, Carole Moreau? You wish to become a follower of the Silver Rose?”

This was the moment to tell the sorceress no, to make her plea to be allowed to go free, to return to Faire Isle. But as Carole looked into those flat, empty eyes, her tongue went dry, cleaving to the roof of her mouth.

She gulped and was horrified to hear herself whisper meekly, “Y-yes, milady.”

“And are you worthy of such an honor?”

“I don’t know,” Carole replied miserably.

“Give me your hand.”

It seemed like such an innocuous command. Carole could not have said why she found herself terrified to obey it. She extended her fingers timidly. An expectant hush seemed to fall over the entire assemblage as the sorceress groped the air, seeking Carole’s hand. Carole blinked, stunned by a sudden realization.

The witch was blind. But Carole’s shock at that discovery was as nothing compared to the jolt that went through her when the sorceress’s hand closed over hers, her touch so cold. She ran her fingers over Carole’s palm, scoring her lightly with her nails.

Carole shivered at the disturbing feeling that swept over her, as though she was being pricked by needles, the freezing sensation shooting like a current through her wrist, up her arm, across her chest, probing her heart with fingers of ice. It was as though every memory, every secret, every emotion she’d ever experienced in the span of her fifteen years was being drained from her.

She wanted to wrench her hand free, but even though the witch’s fingers felt thin, almost brittle, it was as though she were caught in the grasp of an iron manacle. By the time the sorceress released her, Carole trembled from head to toe. She drew her hand close to her breast, trying to massage some warmth back into her chilled fingers.

The sorceress murmured, “I do sense some qualities in you that might prove useful, Carole Moreau. Anger, resentment, hatred. But you are also imbued with a degree of weakness, useless sentiment as well. I am not sure . . .” she trailed off with a deep frown.

Carole’s breath hitched in her throat, aware that her life hung in the balance of those last four words.

Ursula all but crowed in triumph. “Ah, milady, it is exactly as I tried to warn you. The girl is not worthy. She should be disposed of and Odile punished for—”